


Beneath the Showers and Shadows

by Scarlettpeony



Series: From Shadows to Stars [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Adultery, Azure Moon Timeline, Blue Lion Route, Cheating, F/M, Female Gaze, Infidelity, Outdoor Sex, Sexual Content, Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 07:34:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21232127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlettpeony/pseuds/Scarlettpeony
Summary: Byleth couldn't help but stop to take in the view: he was so incredibly handsome, toned and muscled with his dampened skin looking almost golden from the reflection of the sun. She had looked upon his form many times now but it pleased her to know there were still other... angles... to appreciate him from.It almost made her forget that she was here to reprimand him.The morning after the plan for the 'final' march against those who lurk in the shadows is set, Claude flippantly postpones an important meeting to bathe in the nearby lake. Byleth is far from impressed with her secret lover's conduct. Sword in hand she charges into the thicket to give him a dress down.However, there is a method to his madness.





	Beneath the Showers and Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Set in a post-canon Azure Moon timeline, though the series may contain references to the Crimson Flower, Silver Snow and Verdant Wind reveals and scenarios.
> 
> Edits: [15/Oct/2020] Tweaked a few chronological errors.

✷

_Nineteenth Day of the Red Wolf Moon, the Year 1188._

Seteth obeyed Byleth's command and departed the camp, though not without one last mope. As she came out to bid him farewell the look of reluctance on his face was unmistakable. Equipping his wyvern for the relatively long journey back to Garreg Mach, he had turned to her with a plea in his eyes that she knew she would have to be resolute in the face of.

"Are you _absolutely _certain I should not stay with you, Lady Byleth?"

"Yes," was the firm response. "I told you before that I need someone to sure-up the monastery."

He grumbled.

"Couldn't Hanneman handle it? Or Ignatz? I just feel--"

"Ignatz and Hanneman are both capable," she conceded, before placing a hand on his shoulder. "You, on the other hand, are the closest thing there is to returning there myself."

"...And I suppose I can't convince you to do just that?" Seteth pushed lightly. "I could stay here with the Church forces and Claude--that is, His Royal Highness, to finish off this campaign."

Byleth shook her head.

The truth was that nothing short of news that Garreg Mach or Castle Blaiddyd were under siege would convince Byleth to leave the camp now. 

_These strange people who crawl in the shadows are after me: I won't hide away, _she told herself. _Besides, no one can lead this army the way I do._

She was also not too proud to admit to herself that Claude was keeping her firmly anchored. If she were to leave now, she wouldn’t see him again for the rest of the conflict. Though he might return to Garreg Mach with his forces once they had cleaned up the rest of the late Edelgard's troublesome band, the end of combat would signal all and sundry to descend upon her at the monastery. Including Dimitri.

"What kind of successor would I be to Rhea were I not willing to put myself on the battlefield?" she posed.

Seteth narrowed his eyes. "Rhea knew when to allow others to fight for her. Perhaps you might consider this as one of those times?"

_I will not,_ _and nothing you can say will change my mind._

Still, she humoured him.

"I will keep you informed," Byleth promised. "Should the situation here become dire, I will withdraw to the monastery. However, I don’t think it will come to that. I would never send _you _away if I felt I couldn't be without your help here..."

The next fight would likely be the last, for now. It was as good as won anyway. While Byleth hoped she wouldn't need the rest of her Church armies, she had to keep them poised and ready. If she _had_ miscalculated, then Seteth was the best person to lead her reserve forces.

Patting his shoulder one last time, she finished her thought:

"There's no one else I can count on. I trust you more than anyone."

Seteth raised a curious eyebrow.

"Anyone? Even the king?"

Byleth managed to smile at that. "Dimitri is peerless as a warrior... but to be perfectly honest, I find myself wavering when it comes to his strategies and tactics. I have no such hesitations about you, Seteth."

That was the truth. It not only helped that Seteth had a cooler head than her husband - he was guaranteed to do as she said. 

With Dimitri, it depended on his mood. He had always listened to her with the obedience of a well-trained puppy when he was but a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old student at the Officers Academy. He would complete every assignment, task and duty she gave him under her tutorship to the letter and to perfection, on time and without complaint. 

But that sweet little puppy was gone. Edelgard and the Five Year War had seen to that. It had picked open the wounds in Dimitri's soul, scars left by the Tragedy of Duscar, that he freely admitted would never fully heal. Thus, at times, it was a ravenous wolf whom Byleth had to contend with. A lone wolf at that, who charged his enemy as though they were the last goat on the mountain.

Seteth shook his head.

"I wasn't talking about _our _king, Your Grace."

She froze.

"Then you were... talking about—?"

"Claude, naturally," he said, brow creasing. "Unless you have some other king stashed away somewhere?"

"That's hardly a fair comparison," Byleth challenged. "You‘re my right-hand man in the Church while he is, well, a monarch with his own kingdom and interests.”

"Indeed, and yet you put a lot of faith in his schemes despite him being a foreign ruler."

"I do,” she confessed. “But...”

_I need to watch my words. _

It wouldn't be enough to point out that Claude, too, was an academy alumnus. 

For as well-behaved as Dimitri had (mostly) been, Claude had been the definition of a 'troublemaker': always breaking curfew, sticking his nose into places where it didn't belong, challenging authority figures, asking too many difficult questions, and preferring to 'interpret' rules rather than following them. Byleth had never scolded him as much as Seteth would have liked as she had admired his gumption and ability to think outside the box.

She still did.

Taking another moment to consider how to respond, Byleth knew exactly what Seteth would want to hear. 

"Well, perhaps that's another reason why I feel I must stay — it’s the only way I can trust that the battle will go sufficiently considering our royal friend's 'schemes'. Whereas I know all will be well beneath your watchful eye."

It seemed to work as a smirk finally broke across Seteth's lips.

"I can tell you are trying to butter me up," he accused lightly, though the smile remained. "However, I must admit to enjoying the compliment. Very well, regardless of my feelings - and whether the ones you just expressed to me are remotely truthful - I will obey your command. I shall make ready and leave at first light."

"Good," Byleth nodded, inwardly sighing in relief. "Look at it this way, too -- you'll get to see Flayn again that much sooner."

"Yes, that is a bright side I cannot ignore also." 

* * *

✷

_Twentieth Day of the Red Wolf Moon, the Year 1188._

Come the next morning, all of the commanders that remained had been due to meet for morning tea. They were to run through the overall housekeeping of the camp: supplies, weapons, provisions and any known problems they needed to consider before beginning the 'final' march. 

It was a long and tedious task that Byleth was happy to let Lorenz take the lead on. If there was one thing, he liked it was organising everyone else’s life for them. Plus, he really was the best person with the other “organisers” indisposed: Gilbert (diligent and thorough) was retired, Annette (chaotic yet thorough) was just weeks away from her due date, and Hilda (a great lover of bossing people around and thorough) at home with the new baby. Then there was Seteth, who always wanted to control _everything_, which was precisely why Byleth always found other jobs for him to do.

_Like, command the army at home._

However, after carrying her map and notes from her quarters to the war-tent, she had found only Lorenz and Leonie in there. The former was talking the latter’s ear off about a letter he had received from Hilda that detailed the _"unbelievably endearing thing"_ that Susie did the other day. She was an adorable baby, by all accounts. 

_All the new babies were! _

Lorenz and Hilda's Susannah, Sylvain and Ingrid's Conor, and doubtless Annette and Felix's first child would be lovable, too.

It tugged warmly and painfully at Byleth's chest. 

Her eyes fell on Leonie; she was usually happy to listen to updates about all of 'the little ones', yet she looked agitated. Not at Lorenz but something else.

"What's wrong?" Byleth queried, placing her items down. "Where is everyone?"

"Didn't you hear?" Leonie uttered, fiddling with a bowstring. "His Majesty, or Royal Excellency, or whatever Claude's title is supposed to be these days, postponed the meeting until noon."

Byleth immediately scowled. 

"I didn't hear," she said through a clenched jaw. _He flippantly postponed the meeting without telling me?_

"Lousy, right?" the huntress sighed. "It's completely thrown off the schedule."

"Typical Claude! Utterly disrespectful to Her Grace here!" Lorenz agreed as he lamented over a fine china cup of lavender tea. “But truly, I do hope this war ends soon. I would like to bear witness to _some _of my daughter’s growth. She is a paragon! The future of House Gloucester! This is a crucial time in her development... and I’m missing it!”

Leonie looked at him sympathetically. “She can’t even hold her own head up, Lorenz! You’ll be home long before she starts talking.”

This certainly seemed to be more paternal paranoia about missing his daughter’s “firsts” that was upsetting Lorenz, rather than any concern that the 'paragon' would lose her lustre at a mere 9-weeks-of-age unless he were there to apply the ‘Gloucester polish’.

It was getting hard to listen to.

"Let me look for Claude," Byleth grumbled.

As she walked out, she bumped into Lysithea, whose eyes conveyed more meaning than words would have: _When you find Claude, kill him for me, too!_

Byleth turned heel to march off towards the Almyran side of the camp, her irritation increasing with each step.

On the way over, Ashe noticed her and began to trail after her. 

“I heard the news, Your Grace!" he said hurriedly. "Would you like me to locate His Royal Highness in your stead? You can wait for him with the others in the—”

“Let me handle ‘His Royal Highness’,” was Byleth’s curt response. “Just make sure everyone is there at noon, on the dot.”

She stopped in her tracks and scolded herself in a voice that sounded like Sothis's;

_Don't snap at the poor boy -- he's only trying to help!_

With that thought, she turned to the faithful young archer and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Can you make sure word gets around to the others? I will bring Claude — though I can’t promise he will be in one piece.”

Once she reached Claude's quarters on the other side of the encampment, it made her more annoyed to find out where he had disappeared to instead of keeping to the plan.

"You look pretty when you're angry," Nader chuckled, seeming rather amused by the scowl on her forehead. He stopped smiling when Byleth continued to glare. "Ahem, pardon me, Your Grace. The King has gone with a couple of his guards to Lake err, what's it called. Oh! Lake Afanc."

_He means 'Lake Awen'._

"To... scope the surroundings?"

"Nah, to wash!"

With that, she dumped off her notes, grabbed her sword and made for the thicket nearby. She could have sworn the burly wyvern rider bowed his head and muttered, “Nice knowing ya, kiddo but this little lady is on the war-path!” as she left. 

After storming down the coppice trail for long enough, she finally spotted the green-and-golden-clad sentries of Claude's famous _hazahran-pasban_, the Immortals Royal Guard of Almyra.

She halted before them and folded her arms, eyes blank. 

"I wish to speak with your king."

They looked at one another, perplexed.

"His Royal Highness is still..." one began, looking to his friend.

"...bathing," the other finished.

They probably expected the archbishop to blush and retreat with panic as they looked beyond bewildered when Byleth blinked and persisted.

"And _I_ still need to speak to him."

She must have been the image of the scary schoolmistress as the men seemed fidgety under her cold-stare. The tension was only cut by an echoed, distant yell that came from behind them. 

"Let her pass. I'm decent enough to receive the archbishop."

Unable to refuse after their king's command, the two men stepped aside, and Byleth passed them smoothly without another word.

To their minds, receiving a woman of the cloth, head of the church and queen-consort to the reigning king of the lands they all stood in, _"decent enough"_ would have meant breeches at the very least. They were unaware, of course, that Claude's idea of decency in front of Byleth had long passed the point of anything more than complete nakedness. 

Passing between a brush of trees and then a little further down the hillside, she found the almighty King of Almyra washing his hair by the lakeside, wearing nothing but his earring - and a smile.

Byleth couldn't help but stop to take in the view: he was so incredibly handsome, toned and muscled with his dampened skin looking almost golden from the reflection of the sun. She had looked upon his form many times now, but it pleased her to know there were still other... _angles_... to appreciate him from.

It almost made her forget that she was here to reprimand him.

"Enjoying the scenery?" he teased.

"Aren't you cold?" she retorted.

"You get used to it after a while. Try taking a dip. You look rather tense.”

"Ashe reported that the enemy fled this way," she snapped at him. "Why are you risking your neck by washing in the lake?!"

"I have to get my kicks in life from somewhere, Your Grace," he responded with a casual shrug. At that, he slipped into the water, Byleth watching as everything beneath his waist was submerged. He tucked his head under briefly to wash the suds from his hair before continuing his chatter.

"Besides, what better way to survey a landscape than breathing it, tasting it, living in it... and getting an idea of what it's like?"

Sniffing loudly, Byleth rested her hands on her hips. "So, you delayed our morning meeting... to take a bath?"

"I thought it would be an insult if I were to present myself to Her Grace, the archbishop-queen, covered in dust, sweat and the scent of my forbidden liaison the night before!" 

"_Funny_," she muttered.

Sitting down upon the bank, she removed her boots before unhooking and rolling-off her patterned stockings. Slowly, teasingly. First one, then the other. 

Claude stared with a barely contained leer as the delicate material was pulled from her creamy skin. 

'She's putting on a show for me,' his smug expression said. 

For a moment or two, he might've forgotten they were in what could be deemed an unsecured location. His guards were but half a mile away, and enemies might be lurking nearby, yet despite all of that, he could feel the want pooling towards his loins.

She slipped her feet into the cool waters, unusually pleasant despite the brisk chill. 

_Claude is right about it not being too bad_. 

It had been a skewed year weather-wise. The last of the summer might have been dying all around them, but it was a slow death. What should have had the bite of early winter had been uncommonly warm. The once-green leaves were still transitioning to orange and red, floating one by one to a watery grave in the lake...

"The water is quite nice," she sighed before continuing her rebuke. "It was quite heartless of you to postpone the meeting without a bye or leave. Lorenz said it showed disrespect to me."

"That was the goal," he admitted. "I felt it best to err on the side of caution and keep them all guessing by needlessly aggravating you on a whim, after the other night."

"The other night was your idea."

"But doing it in the study was _your _idea," he said, before giving her a shameless smile. "That would suggest that it is once again _my _turn to select a venue, _hmmm_?" 

Byleth motioned Claude over -- and he obeyed with the swiftness of a fish. 

"Congratulations, you 'aggravated' me."

"Great! Now, let me make it up to you."

Carefully, he took one foot in his hands, and he began to massage it. 

Her eyes fluttered closed, skin leaping at his touch.

"If left it up to you," Byleth said, "we'd have been making love over the damned map! And almost certainly have been caught."

He rejected that out of hand.

"I told you, I _always _take precautions to ensure we will not be discovered," he whispered, as he ran his tips along her arch. "Every moment we have is precious - and, frankly, I seldom enter a room without having already investigated whether an opportunity for intimacy might be found there. Even for just one, quick kiss."

He gave her foot one as if to make the point. 

Her feelings were somersaulting between the frustrations of earlier: the bubbling lust of seeing him bathe, and the ardent love she felt in her crest-stone and blood at his words just now. Amidst all of that, and now his hardened digits upon her skin, her breath hitched in her throat.

"Your fingers are rough_."_

He snorted despite himself, tracing his index finger up her calf, not looking up from his work. "I thought you loved that about them?" 

Byleth watched him, eyes hooded by her lashes. 

"I do," she confessed in a shaky breath. "I love how good they feel against my skin," he placed another kiss upon her ankle, "But, I love them best when they're," she twiddled her toes delightedly, "_Inside _me."

Claude quickly extinguished the guttural groan that tried to escape his windpipe; the jolt of lust that shot through him had struck him so hard. 

Taking a moment's recovery, he peeked up at her. "Ahem, o-oh, is that so?" 

"_Hm-hmm_," she purred.

Byleth smiled, a little conceited in how her confession had wound him up. His voice was still a little strangled as he continued.

"Would you, ahem, like them," he cleared his throat again, "Inside you right now?"

Her innards twisted as Claude's free hand came to rest upon her thigh, provisionally creeping up towards where the material of her clothing met open skin.

Yet, with an utterance of disappointment, she laid her hand atop his own to stop its dangerous journey towards her core. 

"A little out in the open, don't you think? It's not like your guards are wearing earplugs.”

"Oh, thee of little faith!" and he pointed to the other side of the lake. There beneath the shade of the weeping willows, Byleth spied a concave that looked to be an entrance. "See that grotto? I happened to notice it earlier and was immediately drawn in by the... possibilities." 

Byleth cocked an eyebrow. 

_Oh really? You were _that _sure I would storm out here to find you?_

'Probably' was the answer.

"Pragmatically speaking," Claude went on, "If we’re looking for an excuse to scope it out then, going on our cave-dweller theory, perhaps we'll find evidence of the enemy there?"

As he turned around again, she tilted her head at him.

"And just how am I supposed to get across there without getting my garbs soaked?"

"There’s a submerged causeway, so we can cross without a boat or the need to swim. Though you shall have to strip down to your undershirt, fear not! I shall be a gentleman." 

Then, he used his grip to tug her a little closer to him, "At least, as long as we are in earshot of others."

His touch and kisses were hot against her leg.

"I can't strip off my clothes when anyone could just come over that hill--!"

"Ah, yes, a dilemma if ever there was one!" he nodded sagely. 

Despite the 'risk' of someone seeing them, he continued to tend to her feet - and she continued to let him.

"We _could _take a leisurely stroll along the bank together if you wish," he offered. Using his free hand, he traced the shore of the lake for her, which snaked around for some distance before curving towards the point at which they were aiming. "Might take us a while and yet again delay our noon 'tea party' with the others... but every second in your company is precious to me, remember?"

He gave her toe another nibble.

“It really depends on how desperate you are for my 'attention'. My long, rough archer’s fingers within Your Grace's most luscious person.”

Byleth was certain every part of her body had blushed red. 

"Very well," she gasped out, immediately removing her circlet. "We shall take the causeway. Are you armed?"

"Naturally," he said, indicating his folded clothes where a sword and a bow lay nearby.

"Bring both," she said sharply. “Have your sword at the ready.” 

If there legitimately were enemies on the other side of the lake, they would need to fight in close quarters. Byleth certainly felt pent up enough to kill a foe with a single blow.

“I'll bring them for appearance's sake, but there won’t be foes, I already checked.”

“We should still be armed,” she said resolutely. “Just in case.”

He gave her a firm nod and reluctantly let go of her foot. 

Claude began to wade over towards his weapons - and his clothes - when Byleth called to him again. “Wait, just how deep is the causeway?”

He stopped and looked down to search beneath the waters.

“Hmm? Ah, about this deep.”

He stepped up onto it. In doing so, he had all but climbed out of the water completely. Byleth’s eyes slowly trailed down his body. They followed the droplets of water as they traced from his collar bone to the natural dip of his chest, the dark hairs there caught some, but her gaze kept moving down, down to his waist, (where the cold of the water certainly hadn’t affected him), and lower still to where the water came up: 

Just below his knees. 

_So, just __above __mine_. 

She ceased her undress. 

“If it’s _that _shallow, why do I need to strip off to my underwear, Your Royal Highness?”

“As a precaution, Your Grace.”

He climbed out of the lake without another word, as if the matter was closed.

“Uh-huh? A ‘precaution’?”

“Indeed,” Claude replied, wrapping the drying cloth about himself. He pointed to the sky, alerting her to a dark set of clouds some way away. “Rain is coming, faster than you probably think, so you'd best keep some of your clothes dry. What if you misstep, slip and fall into the river, getting dank pond grime all over your lovely vestments?"

"Is that likely?"

"I dunno, maybe. There are other considerations, too."

His eyes filled with mischief, "What if... a rogue Almyran king rips the damned things off you? What would _Seteth _say!? You have to plan for these things."

“The rogue Almyran king will just have to control himself,” was Byleth's tart reply. “Or I'll change my mind and not go at all!"

Claude snorted.

"Fine, fine," he muttered. "We wouldn't want it to come to that, would we? After all, denying yourself hurts you as much as it does me. I don't even care if your vestments get wet... or ripped."

As a compromise, she removed the embellishments of her garb and folded them neatly alongside her stockings, as well as her corset. Only her shorts, top and whatever lay beneath remained. Picking them up, she walked towards where he was sorting through his items underneath a tall, bending willow.

"I'm ready," Byleth called over. "Cover-up and let's go."

He looked up at her, gave her visage a quick glance and smirked, still covered by the towel and in no rush to garb himself. 

Byleth looked wearily behind her, up the incline where the guards were presumably still stationed. 

“I mean it, what if your guards see me with you--" she glanced down at his barely-covered modesty, "--like this?"

When their eyes met again, he just looked amused. 

“It'd certainly give them a surprise.”

_“Claude!"_

Byleth was ashamed at how sulky he was making her. Though she wouldn't admit it aloud, it wasn't even about propriety — it was her desperate want.

Seeing that she was getting genuinely flustered, he began to dress a little faster.

"Very well," he chuckled. "Heaven forbid if someone were to come across us in this compromising situation and correctly interpret what's going on. Here—!"

He reached out to take the folded items from her arms.

"—put anything you don't want getting wet here with my things. This tree will provide plenty of shelter from the rain."

She gave another cautious glance up the hill.

“Won’t your guards—?” she began.

“Nope,” he cut her off. “I already told them I would be investigating these surroundings. I've ordered them only to come looking for me if I fail to return for the noon meeting. _'Else Count Lorenz Hellman Gloucester will have my eyes for a pair of earrings for his Countess,' _I told them, and my eyes are stunning so Hilda'd probably wear them, too.”

Byleth had to smile. 

"Leonie was annoyed," she told him. “As was Lysithea.”

"Ah, well, in that case, I’ll be burned alive - or my perfect head will end up as a trophy hung above a fireplace," Claude quipped. "It'd certainly be a talking point for Leonie's father."

“And they’ll just accept that?”

"My head getting cut off for a hunting trophy? I'm certain there'd be a war--"

"I _meant_, will your guards really stay put that long? You're their king!"

"Exactly," Claude chimed with absoluteness. "I'm their king; the 'king of all kings' they call me. I know you’ve heard all this before but, to put it bluntly, I have a reputation at home. Just as your 'illustrious' husband didn’t win his throne by tickling Edelgard to death, I didn’t unite Almyra without putting arrows in any _spahbad_, _marzpahn _and _siharai _who disturbed my father’s peace or challenged his rule. If they wouldn't bend, I broke them. ”

_He had fought a bloody war, for certain, _Byleth thought. She had had the 'pleasure' of seeing some of it, first hand._ Just as bloody as the one fought here. _

“I _had_ to prove myself worthy as my father's successor," he admitted. "It's better to say that most people do not want to get on the wrong side of me. Those that don't tend to live very long. Another way in which we two are as one, I think, my stars-above."

She understood. Almyra was a massive, sprawling country filled with people of different beliefs, languages and cultures, constantly bickering and in-fighting. It was not unlike Fódlan in that respect. The one thing that united that vast country was their admiration of strength — it truly was the only constant. 

Thus, once in a lifetime, a king might unite those warring people, win enough prestige and earn enough respect to be dubbed the Shahsharan, or _xsahxsahran — _the 'king of all kings'. The title rarely outlived the man who earned it. Sometimes an especially powerful family might retain it for a few generations, though too often it ended with a weak son, a war between the rivalling head families and an upcoming warrior wishing to topple the royal family. Then the cycle would begin anew.

Needless to say, a son of the king, called a _shahsennu__, _was required to enter the world kicking and screaming with bloody murder to survive the cradle, let alone grow-up to attain the title of _shahzad _\- Crown Prince - and succeed the throne. Then, once he had it, he had to be unassailably in command to keep it. Almyrans didn’t exactly respect primogeniture. Blood meant very little in a land dominated by ‘right of conquest’ -- a weak prince was a dead prince. 

A _shahdoxtar_, a daughter of the king, had it no better. Not when a tested and true method for an ambitious warlord seeking to underminethe current king was stealing said daughter for a wife. Sometimes an ambitious princess would even invite such attempts, making them more akin to "political elopements" than kidnappings. Most of the time though these maids were loyal and true daughters who had to survive by learning to defend themselves against, and even to kill, anyone whose intentions are revealed to be impure. To them, it was better to die fighting than suffer the humiliation of capture and imprisonment.

It was a struggle Byleth had found herself sympathising with.

While no one had ever tried to 'bride-nap' her, people had always found her an oddity. Her ruthlessness as a warrior on the battlefield frightened her father's men, yet her attractiveness had made her a compelling conquest. Most men had the sense to stay away; others had tried their luck - resorting to force if charm was met with a blank stare. Needless to say, none had lived; the first thing Jeralt ever taught her was how to stab a man, so death was certain.

Byleth looked up at the sky. The clouds were white, and the sky seemed blue, perhaps there was a black-grey cluster in the distance but... would it _really _reach them so quickly?

"It will rain," he said as if reading her mind. "It'll be quick, brutal and very, very wet."

Sure enough, as they began the walk, the sun ducked behind the clouds. By the time they were a quarter of the way across, the first drops had begun to hit. Soon the heavens would open, and it wouldn’t matter whether they had taken the causeway or simply swam.

Byleth was startled when Claude threw one half of his towel over her head, bringing them closer together as he sheltered beneath tother. 

“What?” he chuckled. “I don’t control the weather.”

Rushing would only cause her to slip, and then she really would be soaked. So, she slowly walked the submerged path as gentle showers turned to heavy-beatings of rainfall.

_Thank goodness the rest of my clothes are under shelter!_ she thought.

They were reaching the other side when the flash-storm started to lift, now a gentle shower. It was as though nature had wanted to drench them out of spite. 

At last, the lake became shallower, and Byleth’s feet followed the causeway up to the shore. Claude followed behind her to make sure she didn’t misstep. 

She turned to face him, and he whistled. 

Looking down, she saw exactly why. Though her garbs were black, they were so wet they had become translucent against her soaked skin. They legitimately ceased to leave much of anything to the imagination, and her nipples were the cherries on the cake.

“The lake and the rain were... cold,” and she stubbornly folded her arms over her chest. 

Claude bleated out a laugh, delighted that she was needlessly covering up for him when only the other night he had kissed, squeezed and suckled those very breasts.

"Don't worry," he assured her, softly. "You aren't alone in your soaked dismay. I'm completely drenched, too." 

She pointed. 

“This is the grotto?”

“Indeed," he nodded. With a lamenting exhalation, he stared down at his damp clothes gripping his skin. "Seriously, I might as well have stayed naked..." 

“Behave yourself!” she rebutted, wishing to put up the pretence that she might not have been thinking of his damned fingers the whole walk over. “We’re still in sight of the other side.”

"Actually..." Her skin leapt as he reached out to stroke a hand against her back. As she turned, he steadily backed her towards the lip of the cave, “No, we aren’t.” 

Looking over at the other side, Byleth could see the trees indeed covered them. 

“I think we’re fine.”

Their weapons fell limply into the soft soil. 

He immediately reached down between her legs.

She closed her eyes, no intention of stopping him. “When you get like this I never quite know what to do with you.”

“Uh-huh,” he husked.

Holding her by the small of her back with one hand, the other slipped down her shorts and underwear. She became conscious of the thick and sturdy rod pressed between them. 

Her gasp caught in her throat. 

“Gods,” he whispered in odd awe. “You're so warm, and soft... and very, _very_ wet, aren’t you?"

At that, her hands immediately rested over the tenting of his trousers, prompting a choked groan from him in return. “You’re very, _very_ hard, aren’t you?” she said, parodying the tone he had used.

“I am. I have been for quite some time now.”

“Let me fix that for you.”

She began to kiss and nip the bare skin of his neck and then collarbone, before pushing aside the still damp cloth of his shirt to begin a descent upon his chest. She considered using her own sword-calloused fingertips — and her mouth — on him. _A tip-for-tap_, she thought, for his glib tongue that had teased her toes.

She reached for the buttons.

But he stopped her.

"Not now."

His fingertips found that most sensitive part of her, and he began to rub. Byleth cried out an _"oh!" _immediately, grasping blindly at his nape for support. Feeling her legs start to quake beneath her, she encircled one around his own in a desperate attempt to leverage herself. 

A low snigger escaped him. 

"Does it feel good, my stars-above? How I'm making you feel right now, with my fingers that you love _sooooo_ much?"

Every word he spoke stroked her ear, winding the knot within her ever tighter. She tried to speak, to reply, but every utterance failed upon her lips as he continued his relentless assault. All she could do was grip him tighter, all whimpers and whines. 

He easily pressed one finger inside her, then a second.

"_Yes!_" she finally heaved out.

"...Oh? Hit the sweet spot, have I?"

_Oh, you have the sweet-spot!_

It was causing her to lose all presence of self. She could have been anywhere at that moment. Whether in that cave or a million miles away, the only thing that seemed to be keeping her anchored to reality was him. 

“Would you really...” he breathed into her ear, “...come from just my fingers?”

She still couldn’t talk, even a nod felt like too much effort. 

He chuckled, “...you _would_, wouldn’t you?”

_Yes!_ she thought, the word itself failing her. This was _toe_-_curling_. It never ceased to amaze her when his onslaught reached this point. She wanted to scratch the shirt upon his back to pieces and to cry with how damned wonderful it felt, at how close she was to her release. She wanted him, all of him. 

_How can he possibly go faster, harder and more vigorous?_

Yet he did. It was more than she could handle. Alone, Byleth usually found herself shying away from this most precious place before she could ever reach it as if Sothis were still with her and judging her. But Claude refused to relent until she reached it, and passed it. 

He began to slow his teasing to small strokes and delicate twists of his fingers before he carefully, almost hesitantly, removed his hand from her - and she screamedout in frustration.

_"Why are--!"_ she managed to croak. 

But then she felt his desperate struggle with her bottom layers and realised what he wanted, what he needed.

_Oh!_

Frantically, she untangled herself from him and came to his aid. Once she was bared, she reached once again to unbutton his trousers; this time, he didn't stop her. Despite the roaring passion at her centre that was still crying out for its climax, she welcomed the much slower kisses he placed against her skin as he hoisted her up. 

"I don't think this will last long..." Claude confessed warily.

Byleth shook her head with an _"I don't care,"_ begged him _"hurry!" _and pleaded for him to take her _"quickly!"_ She was desperate that the build-up within her did not go out with a whimper. 

Her beseechments died on her lips, and in their place, a loud, shriek of delight erupted from her as he pushed in at last. 

Despite feeling little more than a deadweight and a bundle of nerves in his arms, she wrapped herself around him, holding on as if on to dear life as every inch of him filled the void greater than that which had been left by his fingers. She was close. _So close._

He whispered with each purposeful movement.

“Come for me, By... come on... _come on..!_”

His words were like an arcane spell, and on the third appeal, her body obliged.

Smothering her groan against his mouth, she was swiftly undone by the third and fourth thrust. His fingers had already laid the groundwork; the rest of him finished her off. _Another part of him that I love_, was her wry thought. Her whole body clenched and stiffened as she arched against him to draw out the pleasure just that little more. 

He growled as his own release was drawn from him, too, by her burden and tightness wrapped about him. He might not have lasted long... but Byleth could feel the tension ebbing away from him with each weakening roll of his hips as he spilt inside her.

Gently, if not unsteadily, her feet found the ground again, and her mouth found his lips. 

"You certainly didn't make that noise in your study," he teased, breathily.

"At least it didn't rain in the study!" she riposted lightly.

Closing her eyes to let the last shocks roll over her, she allowed herself to be cradled in his hold. Despite the damp, she felt warm with him and the feeling of his afterglow.

_Pity! If only you didn't have to sneak around like this._

Suddenly, she thought of Sothis again.

Byleth hadn't truly heard her speak since they fused. Sometimes, she would think in Sothis's voice - especially when telling herself off - but it wasn't really her. She was gone. Seteth once confessed to her that, for a time, had her crest-heart been removed they might have been able to separate, though the likelihood of it killing Byleth was greater than it turning her back into a 'regular' woman. 

_H__ave I ever been 'regular' though?_

She couldn't remember a time she had been, so to become so would be the true abnormal. It was entirely too late at this point anyway. With each moment, the line between the old Goddess and the new blurred further and the memory of Sothis's voice faded more.

_What would you think if you saw me right now? _she found herself thinking. _Would you understand my plight or rebuke me for my actions?_

Claude placed a kiss on her crown.

“Whatchya thinking about, Teach?”

His use of her old nickname snapped Byleth's eyes open. 

“Sothis,” she straight away admitted.

Claude was one of the few people on Earth who knew what that meant to her. One of the only people she had ever described it to. 

Although taken a little aback, he laughed. 

“Well, I wasn’t expecting that response. That’s like me saying I was thinking of my grandfather—!”

She gave him a playful tap to silence him. 

“I was wondering what she would say if she could talk to me right now.”

They pulled away from one another slightly, their lips meeting for another few kisses before Byleth fully separated her body from his.

“The way you described her...” he replied thoughtfully. “Makes me think she’d either reprimand you for our shamelessness or congratulate you for it.”

It was like he read her mind, and Byleth couldn’t help but smile. He didn’t have the answer to her question any more than she did — but he had certainly got the measure of Sothis.

_Sothis would have liked Claude, _Byleth believed. _But she’d never have admitted it._

**Author's Note:**

> ##### Translations of High Almyran words
> 
> **hazahran-pasban** translates to 'Thousand-strong Watchers'. Constructed from the real-world "hazāra-pati", which was the title of the command of the Immortals i.e. the inspiration for Claude's battalion name, and the Middle Persian word 'pāsbān' (meaning 'guard' or 'watcher').  
**spahbad** is a noble/military rank in Almyra, approximate to a 'Count'-rank in Fódlan. Based on the real-life Sasanian 'spahbed', who were the army commanders. Incidentally, an 'eranspabad' is approximate to a 'Duke'-rank.  
**marzpahn** is a noble rank in Almyra, approximate to a 'Margrave'-rank in Fódlan. Based literally on the Middle Persian equivalent to a Marquis or Marcher-lord, which is what margraves are.  
**siharai** is a noble rank in Almyra, approximate to a 'Baron'-rank in Fódlan. Based on the Avestan term for 'head' or 'chief'.  
**shahsharan** (Simplified), or _xsahxsahran_ translates as 'King of all King's' or 'Kings' King'. Based very much on the real-life 'Shahanshah', which means the same.  
**shahsennu** (Simplied), or _xsahsennu_ translates as 'Prince' or 'King's male child' and refers to any blood (damu) male child of the king. Distinct from a **shahzahd** (Simplified), or _xsahzahde_ translates as 'Crown Prince' or heir of the King.  
**shahdoxtar** (Simplified), or _xsahduxtar_ translates as 'Princess' or more exactly King's **daughter**.
> 
> ##### Notes on Places
> 
> **Lake Awen** a large lake within the boundaries of Miach Forest. When Nader calls it 'Lake Afanc', he's referring to a nearby waterfall called 'Afanc Falls', which flows into Awen.


End file.
